stereotypical single woman

There is a longstanding rule in my house. No bathroom buddies allowed while I am in various stages of undress in the bathroom. I can pee or take a shower without their supervision, thank you very much. So of course it goes without saying that every single animal I have ever had is completely and totally fascinated with the bathroom.

Teddie thinks that the space behind the toilet is the best ever spot for a nest. There’s nothing quite like seeing a hormonal macaw running into the bathroom every time someone leaves the door open, trying to squeeze her big butt behind the toilet and garbage bin, placing her claim on such prime real estate. It’s funnier still if someone has left a towel, her mortal enemy, on the floor and she must defend her territory from the evilness that does restrain her while she is having her toenails clipped. And I’ve learned that shaggy floor mats are perfect shredding material for nests, obviously put there to supply her with building materials.

The boys are also completely taken with the bathroom, as it is the place of running water. They are constantly in the bathroom sink, putting their heads under the faucet, waiting for the water to come out. Turning the faucet on full force and soaking their heads never gets old. It’s also the place where there are lots of little things on shelves to be knocked off. So far I’ve lost two lipsticks, an old mascara, and an earring. Because obviously there are not enough cat toy in my apartment to keep them occupied. When I first brought Marty in off the streets I kept him quarantined in the bathroom for a few days until the fleas were dead and his FIV and Feline Leukemia test came back negative. I honestly believe that Harvey was not as angry about the new invader into our home as he was about being denied access to his favorite place.